Beyond All Odds
by Cr1mson5
Summary: Kara Zor-El arrives on Earth to the promise of a new friend in Batman's young protege. Both must adjust to the changes in their lives after her ill control of her abilities costs Tim his sight and Kara is thrust into the position of Supergirl.
1. Memories

**I don't own anything but the plot of the story.**

**Rating: T for my standard stuff**

_I still remember what it was like, leaving my dying home world for a new planet that I'd never seen before, let alone even knew existed. I still remember what it was like to let go of all I'd ever known and try to embrace the uncertainty that surrounded my new world, wherever it was._

I will never forget the day she came into my life, the girl who fell from the sky and attracted the attention of so many people who all wanted to use her for their own ends, some more malevolent than others. I will never forget the mistakes that we both made, everything it cost me.

_If I could remember the exact date, I would say what it was, but I don't, so I won't. I don't think, if anybody could've survived the Kryptonian apocalypse, they would've remembered the precise day it occurred on. We were all too caught up in the fear and the stress and the terrifying knowledge that ours was a doomed world, a doomed race, and that these were our last hours alive. In our home in Argo City, my father, Zor-El, and my mother, Alura, worked diligently as the great metropolis collapsed around us, preparing the shuttle that would hopefully carry me away to safety. Father had worked out all the details with my uncle, Jor-El. They were sending my little cousin, Kal-El, with me to a planet very far away, several light-years away from Krypton. Father warned me that things would be drastically different there. He said that their research had uncovered many things that would come as a change for the two of us, but he knew I could handle it, could teach Kal-El to handle it. But even as they assured me that everything would work out for the best, that I would adjust well because I had the ability to, I could sense that there was something they refused to tell me. I honestly cared nothing for whether they were doing it for my own protection or because they underestimated my ability to process the information. It frightened me all the same._

It was the tail end of June, the twenty-sixth, to be exact, 2009. We had all just gotten over the ordeal with Luthor, Bruce and Clark were somewhat getting over their political issues and opposing views on the future of the presidency's credibility, and I was very pointedly _not_ getting over the fact that, technically, I was still supposed to be grounded. I never took her arrival on that night as anything more than a weird coincidence. It didn't really make any difference to me that the streets seemed like some nightmare fresh out of hell. That was standard Gotham City, a bunch of pretty buildings with dark secrets to hide. It didn't make me worried because I knew we'd survive, we always did, and life would go on like usual. If I'd been acting like a good little exiled sixteen-year-old, I would've been back at Dad's apartment, in bed, asleep. But, as much as I hated going behind Dad's back about being Robin, I couldn't help myself. I lived for the danger I faced every night. I was addicted to that adrenalin rush of staring death in the eyes and then spitting in its face. Even though I knew Bruce would've preferred it if I'd been with him—easier to keep another Jason Todd scenario from happening and all that—he let me go it solo that time, said he was confident in my ability to handle myself. Never was I more grateful for the fact that we hid no secrets from each other when it came to the life.

_Mother calmed my nerves as best she could, soothing me, as Father withdrew from my little vessel for the final time, calling out, "Kara, come along. You must go now, my daughter." I was reluctant to leave them behind, and I wished that there was some way I could've brought them along, but I knew that I couldn't. They had resigned themselves to their fates on Krypton. They wanted the culture of our world to live on through me and my cousin. That was the reason they'd built their shuttle to hold only one person, and one person alone—me._

I think the whole city of Metropolis fifty-four miles east of us probably knew when she landed. I know all of Gotham certainly did. It really wasn't something you could miss, especially if you were one of those watching the shower of Kryptonite chunks pummel the city's streets. I had my attention on the docks for stakeout reasons, so that was the only reason I really saw the whole thing. At first, it had looked like a shooting star, and I thought it was until the thing came streaking down into the bay in a burst of flame from being fresh out of the atmosphere, crashing down into the water hard enough to send out a wave that smashed up every car, boat, and flimsily-structured building in sight.

_Father helped me into the shuttle, fastening me into the seat and setting the coordinates. I felt indecent without even a casual sundress on, and the fabric of the seat chafed uncomfortably against my skin. But I knew better than to question Father at this point. He knew what he was doing, and I just had to trust him._

Of course, I wasn't the only one reporting a sighting. But I probably was the only one reporting a close call from it. The impact nearly shook me off my perch. Bruce told me, when I called in, to clear out of the docks. He said he was going to handle it, asked me to take over patrol in the city. I didn't want to do it, but what choice did I have? I wasn't about to try to win an argument against him. He was Batman, I was Robin, and I was just supposed to do what I was told and trust that he knew what he was doing…right?

_The door slid shut, sealing me tightly into the ship. There was a hissing noise as grayish gas leaked inside the vessel from all around me, and I began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. I laid my head back against the seat, gazing out at Mother and Father for the final time. As I watched, the shuttle slowly began its ascent. Before it took off, however, a bright burst of light exploded from behind my parents, throwing them forward, and I closed my eyes, sinking into a deep sleep with the fuzzy knowledge that I had just watched the two people I loved the most die before me. Suddenly, the mission no longer seemed so pressing that I had to leave them there to perish._

I wished I could've stayed behind and helped out, but, after tuning into the police scanner, I started thinking Bruce was some kind of a psychic. The cops were all saying there was some girl running around in nothing but a trench coat and causing mischief. She was metahuman, by the looks of it, and she was pretty much cornered in the south side, which (conveniently) was closest to the docks. Something told me a relatively large projectile coming down in the bay and her sudden appearance weren't wholly unrelated, so I moved in, without orders. After all, Bruce _did_ say he thought I could handle patrol on my own. I guess…I guess that was really the start of it all, the best and worst few months of my life.

_I suppose that I should've been thankful that I slept through most of it. But it only made me wish even more that it had all only been a dream, a nightmare, something to awaken from, and it intensified the pain of realizing that it was all a harsh truth. How could one day make my entire reality so different?_

I was usually okay with the fact that I hardly slept those days, since it meant protecting the city. But that one fateful meeting made me want nothing more than to be back at home, in bed, just dreaming it all, and it made my heart pump that much faster knowing that would never happen again. How could one person—one day—ruin my life?

**A million thanks to jschneids for helping me out with revisions and plot details. You are awesome! Hopefully this one was better…**


	2. Gotham City

**NOTE/DISCLAIMER: Some of the dialogue in this chapter comes from the original story arc in ****Superman/Batman**** #8-13.**

**KARA**

I didn't find out until later that the place where I landed was called Gotham City, but it reminded me of Argo City, somehow. Perhaps it was just the look of the buildings, sharp and angular, towering over the hard, rough streets like glimmering crystals. But it had none of the glamour of my home city, none of the light and splendor. It was all gray, metallic, and ugly, and the people who walked along the streets, caught in the glow of the lamps that lit the sidewalks, all wore expressions of varying emotional degrees. Some seemed cross, others focused, and others afraid. I didn't blame the latter ones for what they felt. I had barely been there an hour, and the place already terrified me.

I slunk along in the shadows, attempting to keep out of sight as much as possible. When someone would pass by, I would duck into the nearest hiding place and stay still until they were gone. Every so often, the black roads would turn gold with the glow of things that looked like water pods with wheels and bright lights on the front, and I hid when they came by, too, mostly because the noise made me think of a wild animal that wasn't to be toyed with. All around me was unfamiliarity. I had no idea where I was, no idea what was going on, and my last memories were only faded blurs. Was I supposed to be here, or was I someplace bad? I couldn't quite recall, and I was starting to panic, but I forced myself to calm down as much as I could manage. _You can never solve anything if you don't keep your head, _I reminded myself. _Just…find someone who can help you. There must be at least one person._

I eventually wandered what I soon figured out was one big circle until I arrived back where I'd crawled ashore, a place that was a sprawling mess of rundown buildings, rusty machines, and garbage. The air reeked of saltwater and decay and the cold, rough ground scraped against the bare soles of my feet. As far as I could tell, there was no one else in sight. I was beginning to wonder if I should just give up on looking when I saw them.

There were three of them, all men and all much larger than me. They wore gloves and stacked wooden crates on top of one another. As they worked, they chattered unintelligibly amongst themselves. I approached them cautiously, unsure of what else to do, and stammered, "W-where am I? Is there anywhere here that's safe?"

The men caught sight of me and began to stare, still speaking words I didn't understand, and I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration. Of course, they wouldn't speak Kryptonese. I was one of the only Kryptonians left. This place, for whatever good it would come to present to me, was far from Krypton and nowhere near similar to it. My language was as good as dead to these people. But…somehow, I had the feeling that those men weren't staring at me because I was speaking a foreign language, and it made me uncomfortable. There was something in their eyes that was almost…lewd. I tracked their gazes to my chest and folded my arms, hoping to hide it and wishing even more that Father had given me something to wear before loading me onto the ship. One of the men was saying something and coming toward me with an outstretched hand aimed at my breasts. All cautions aside for the moment, I lashed out and gripped his two forefingers tightly. "Do _not_ touch me!" I all but shouted.

I squeezed the man's hand, intending only to force it out of the way, but when I did so, I heard a loud crunch, and he cried out in pain, jerking away to hold his now-injured hand. I glanced at his fingers, seeing that they were purple and bent at an unnatural angle. A pang of shock and disgust ran through me—shock that I was apparently much stronger than him and disgust that I had hurt him, even though he did seem rather...manipulative, in a vulgar sense of the word. The second man, heavier-set and obviously angry with me, came forward, acting as if he was going to hit me with the hook in his hand. "No!" I screamed. "Stay _away_!" Acting purely on impulse now, I slammed a hand into his chest and shoved him, sending him flying backward through a few crates. He slumped on the ground, unconscious, and the third man, dark-skinned and more timid than the others, cowered not far from him.

I bent down to retrieve the hook from where it'd fallen. "Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded, hearing in my own voice that I was on the verge of tears. I twisted the hook in my hands, ignoring the frightened babbling of the single uninjured man. "All I want is to know what's happening—is that so difficult to grasp?"

I stood over the third man and glared down at him, feeling heat rise up in my cheeks and around my eyes. He quickly stripped off his coat and held it out to me with a shaking hand, still talking. I took it from him, turned, and started to run, wrapping the coarse fabric around myself as I went.

I splashed through puddles of rainwater and kicked pieces of litter out of my path, never stopping for an instant. I kept asking myself, over and over, if there was someplace else I could go, some other turn I could take to avoid that situation happening again. Of course, to punctuate the thought, I emerged onto a street that was teeming with life, but I had no time to take it all in before a pod-on-wheels crashed, front-first, into my left side. The metal smashed in, the glass shattered and rained down onto the pavement around me, and smoke rose from the vehicle even as the driver kicked open his door and began to berate me, but when I reached down to feel my side and leg, I was unhurt. There wasn't even a scratch or a small bruise on my skin, and I suppose I should've been elated or exhilarated, but I was upset by it even more. A small noise behind me, a single high-pitched note, distracted me for a moment, and I whirled to see what it was. I felt the heat in my face again, concentrating itself even more around my eyes, and the next thing I knew, the light I'd been gazing at, the one suspended from the metal pole jutting over the street at a right angle, exploded, drawing the attention (and surprised reactions) of many a bystander. My legs started to pump again, carrying me across the pavement and turning the scenery into a blur around me. "I have to get away," I panted. "I have to get away!" My eyes watered, expelling the heat and forcing me to slow down or risk finding out what _could_ hurt me in that place.

A loud squealing made me cover my ears to keep them from ringing too much. More pods-on-wheels, this time with flashing lights fixed to their roofs, screamed around corners from every direction and barricaded me into a square little area of the street. Men jumped out and aimed weapons at me. "Please, don't!" I begged. The heat returned to my eyes, and before I could stop it or warn them in any way, their vehicles were bursting into bright, searing flames just as the light had done. "I didn't do anything—_wrong_?" My body seemed to take on its own will, floating up into the air regardless of my flailing legs and swinging arms.

Noises like blasts from small cannons sounded below me, and I could feel things bouncing off my skin while tearing the coat, but I didn't have the courage to look back at what they were. I reached out and grabbed hold of the spire of a building, trembling from fear and wishing this would all just be a horrible nightmare that I would wake up from at any moment. "This is the worst night of my life," I muttered. "I wake up thinking I'm in a wonderful new world and find _this_ instead. And now, as if that weren't enough, I—"

I broke off when a shadow fell over me, and I glanced up warily to see what it was. A young man stood before me, clothed in red and green with a black cape draped over his form. He had one black boot planted firmly on the edge of the roof, the corresponding elbow resting on his bent knee. Gloves protected his hands, and a green mask was plastered onto his face. The wind whipped shaggy raven hair into his pale face, and his lips stretched upward into a mockery of a friendly smile, but I found it difficult to get past those eyes, his pupil-less, blank white eyes. No sort of person I knew of had eyes like that, nobody at all. "Rao," I whispered.

Why did I have such a bad feeling about him?

**TIM**

I've been told that I'm somewhat of a hopeless romantic. I can't help it. I see a pretty girl, I try to impress her. It's kind of a guy thing…when you're young, I guess. But, for the record, I was not trying to impress the willowy blonde stranger girl who decided that Gotham would look a lot better without some major parts of the south side. Like, say, for instance, the traffic lights that help tone down on accidents and the dock workers who're actually kind of decent guys when they're not—well, okay, so we could do without a lot of the dock workers. Still, though, what she did was wrong, and my whole job was to keep people from doing wrong. Or at least to punish the ones who did.

I shadowed her for a while, before I ever made my move. At first, she seemed like your typical case of reckless metahuman teen that's playing the "How Much Trouble Can I Cause Before I'm Caught" game. After a while of watching her, though, I saw that she was just scared. When the cops tried to pen her in, the look on her face was plain as day, even from where I was perched on top of the cathedral. She was about to cry at any minute, and judging by the way she started freaking out when she lifted off, she didn't seem to be previously aware of her, uh, _extraordinary abilities_. So, when she latched onto the cathedral, clinging to it for dear life, my first thought was: _Get her calmed down so nothing else bad happens._ I forced a smile—_really_ forced it—and said, as amiably as I could manage, "Having a little bit of trouble, there, miss?"

I must've accidentally spooked her, because her blue eyes widened even further, and she released her grip, soaring upward. I acted fast, standing on the edge of the roof and taking hold of one slender ankle. She kicked her leg and the next thing I knew, my backside was landing hard on the other side of the roof and I was watching her rapid ascent into the sky. But, not long afterward, the sky in the area directly over her head was blocked off by something gray and oval-shaped that shone spotlights down into the streets. I leapt to my feet, hissing out, "Shit!"

As if I could've done something. She impacted with the huge mass of polyester and neoprene rubber, causing an explosion in its belly that made me flinch and duck. My guess was that she got thrown clear when that happened. I didn't really notice, because my attention was locked onto the newest GCPD automated dirigible, which happened to be hurtling downward toward Vernon Avenue in a ball of flame, gas, and debris. Embarrassingly enough, my only thought was: _So much for that plan._ I reached up and hit the comm-link in my ear. "Um, okay, if anybody's listening, a little help would be great right about now!"

A powerful gust of wind surged past me with enough force to make me stumble…a very distinctly red-and-blue gust of wind, that is. Superman called back, "Got it!" Within seconds, he had grabbed two super-strong, indestructible fistfuls of the foamy material and safely guided the burning hunk of disaster-waiting-to-happen into the waters of Gotham Bay. He returned to the cathedral rooftop with a slight grin on his face. "Your boss is going to be very upset that you broke me out of my room."

I knew Clark just wanted me to think of him as a friend. Why else would he insist on a first-name basis between the two of us and always come across so…I don't know…warm? It still just felt weird, though. I mean, the guy's about Bruce's age, which is strange enough, but he's got this way about him, this power that you don't even have to watch him fly to see. It makes you cringe, just looking in his eyes and glimpsing that determination, that fearlessness. If you ask me, that's every bit as scary as Batman leaping out at you from the shadows. Still, I shoved the awkward words that wanted to come out back down my throat and shrugged. "He can't do anything to me."

Clark's laughter positively boomed in the quiet night air. "We'll see."

My spine tingled, and I turned to see Bruce standing beside me, cradling the unconscious girl in his arms. I raised an eyebrow behind my mask. He responded by curtly announcing, "Time to call it a night, Robin."

I indicated the girl with a nod of the head. "How'd you catch her? I couldn't get near her."

One thing I learned being Robin: there are times when it's best to politely wait for Batman to answer you and other times when it's best to pester the answer out of him. Usually, I got my answers by just waiting for him to be ready to tell me, because that's just what Bruce is like. He has trust issues; he picks apart every situation and searches for things that could go wrong so that he can work on thinking of how to prevent that from happening. Plus, like I said, I was just kind of expected to trust that he knew what he was doing, and for the most part, I did. If he withheld something, it was probably for the best, anyway. And I didn't really think he'd actually give me an answer to my question so much as something to divert my attention. And I was right.

"We're wasting time," he grunted at last, using his elbow to press a button on his belt that called up the Batplane. "We can better handle this situation if we have a chance to analyze her DNA, figure out exactly what we're dealing with here." He turned to Clark. "Care to follow us?"

Clark shrugged. "Lead the way."

"Let's go, Tim."

I sighed again and climbed into the Batplane with him, buckling up as he was steering it around into a U-turn. I'd been expecting a rebuke or a demand for an explanation, but it didn't come. It was silent inside for another few seconds until I decided that I'd be the next thing to explode if I didn't say something. "So, what's the verdict?" I asked. "About the girl, I mean. What are you thinking we should do?"

Bruce looked sidelong at me, as if trying to decide whether to ignore it or actually give me a real answer. "First things first—we need to understand her genetic structure. It might give us a clue as to who she is and where she's from."

I snuck a glance back at her. "Well, if you ask me, her little display pretty much sealed the deal on where she's from for me."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, c'mon, Bruce, you saw what she can do. She's got power like you-know-who." I tipped my head toward the side of the cockpit to indicate Clark.

Bruce glared at me, and it would've affected me if I wasn't used to it. "She is _not_ a Kryptonian. Superman is the last one there is."

"I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying, Tim. _I'm_ saying that it's impossible. Clark is the only being from Krypton left in the entire universe."

"But there's Krypto."

"He's a dog. He doesn't count."

"Look, I know how unlikely it seems and all, but you have to admit…if there was even a chance, isn't it worth considering?"

This time, I sensed that the silence was more an acknowledgement of the truth in my words than something born out of neither of us knowing what to say. The Batplane touched down onto a platform out back of Wayne Manor, powering down even as it sank into the ground. Unconsciously, I gripped the arm of my seat when I felt the tremors that signaled Clark's landing on the wing. The platform closed over us all and drew us safely into the Batcave. As we went, I reached up to pull off my mask, but was stopped by Bruce's hand wrapped around my wrist. "Leave it on," he instructed brusquely, his words all but drowned out by the hum of the cockpit sliding open. "We can't take any risks."

_He doesn't seriously expect her to wake up right now, does he?_ I thought. But I didn't say it. I just shrugged, replied, "Whatever," and hopped out, throwing Clark a half-hearted wave on my way by. I could hear them muttering something as I walked off, but I didn't look back. I just pounded up the stairs, turned the corner, and went over to my own little vantage point.

I flopped down on the catwalk above the main level and got comfortable, hanging my legs off the edge and crossing my arms over one of the bars of the railing. I peered down below at Bruce, who was standing at the computer poring over scans of the girl's DNA and bodily structure; at Clark, who was hovering a few feet off with his arms folded and a skeptical look on his face; and at the girl, who lay quietly on a medical table, covered by a long white sheet. The red laser of the scanner passed over her face and shoulders, her chest and stomach and hips, and I found my eyes following it, watching her. Embarrassment flooded through me, flushing my cheeks and making the back of my neck hot, so I looked away quickly. I'd just met her, and not even like a real introduction. It was me trying to pull her out of the sky. But, still…she was kind of pretty…

The loud, sharp sounds of metal being torn startled me back to reality, and I jumped to my feet to see what was going on. The girl was awake, screaming something at Bruce in a foreign language and starting to float up off the table. Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, her eyes were glowing red, and she looked about ready to blast a hole in something again, but Bruce didn't move from the computer. He didn't even act like he'd noticed. He just stood there, leaving himself open. I decided, as I dug around in my belt for something to distract her with, that I'd use my reprimanding voice on him later on for that. I climbed up on the railing and prepared myself to dive off it at her, hoping that it wouldn't be the first mistake Bruce would let me make that'd get me killed.

I didn't get a chance to do much of anything, though, before Clark was at her side, gently grabbing her ankle and pulling her back down so she was at his eye level. He began to speak to her in what I guessed was her native language…which was funny, because as far as I could tell, Clark really only ever spoke in English and Kryptonese. My face was in my palm and my head was moving from side to side before I knew it. While they chattered on down below, I was up above thinking, _Do we really need another one?_

A flash of red caught my attention, and I looked down to see Clark draping his cape over the girl's shoulders. Bruce finally turned to face them, demanding, "What did she say? What were you two talking about?"

Clark wrapped a reassuring, comforting arm around her shoulders. "This is Kara Zor-El, my cousin from Krypton," he explained.

"Damn," I called down, drawing all their eyes. "This night just keeps getting better and better!"


	3. A Real Introduction

**TIM**

"Okay, so, let me make sure I've got this straight: _you_ want _me_ to spy on _Kara_ for you to make sure she's not a threat?"

I didn't doubt that Bruce heard the incredulous tone in my voice, but he made sure to ignore it while he went about looking over the scans of Kara's DNA for the fiftieth time that week. "You'll be doing us all a favor," he assured me, gazing thoughtfully at a printout and scratching his chin.

I rubbed at my lips and sat down at the computer, still somewhat unsure that I was hearing him right. I shook my head. "But…I don't get it. Why me? Why not Conner or Cassie or—or _somebody_ else? Why am _I_ the only one that's being asked to do this?"

Bruce didn't look up from the scans and printouts. He kept poring over them as if it was vitally important—which, to him, I guess it was. "Conner is technically her cousin, so I doubt he'd be willing to do this for me. Cassie is rather feministic, much like Diana, and would probably try to tell me I'm a sexist. Most other people your age tend to avoid me if they can, and when I seek them out, they assume it's because they've done something wrong. This will play an extremely important role in the long run of things, Tim, and you're the only person I can trust with this assignment."

"Why's that, because I normally don't mind sneaking around behind people's backs?"

Bruce nodded. "Yes."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Look, I'm not saying that I don't think you know what you're talking about here…" Bruce raised an eyebrow at me. "No, really, I'm not. I'm just saying that I'm a little reluctant to do this because I just think it's kind of taking advantage of her. I mean, she just got here. Pretending to be her friend doesn't exactly seem like the way to teach her how to interact with Earthlings, don't you think?" _Plus, I'd really prefer to live to see seventeen…_

He stared at me for what felt like years, and if I wasn't used to being around the guy, I might've shrunk away or flinched or something. Instead, I just sat there and stared back at him, evenly, not breaking my gaze for an instant. I'd gotten better at the Batman/Robin stare-down contests, but even the first minute was starting to push it. About halfway into the second one, my left leg started to bounce up and down, and then I was tapping my hands on the chair. For a second, I almost thought I'd lose—again—before Bruce said, "Tim, we're not trying to teach her to interact with people on Earth. We're trying to determine how dangerous she is to us and our allies as a whole. Think of it like this, if it helps at all: what happens if I'm right and she's not who Clark thinks she is? Say she's really a plant from…Brainiac, perhaps. She gets us all comfortable around her, she learns our secrets, she gains our _trust_, and then she strikes. The battle is devastating. The damage is permanent. And everything and every_one_ we care about suffers as a result. It's the same thing we've been through dozens of times before with traitors in our midst, and I think that it's high time we formed a plan to protect against it. I'm just trying to make sure that we're all safe."

There were another few moments of silence after that as I thought about it, turned the notion over in my mind. It sounded almost…acceptable, worded like that. I mean, he was right; there'd been enough of people getting hurt because of insiders who were working for the enemy for my tastes, too, and I hadn't even been in with them for a very long time compared to most. I recalled my words to Bruce in the Batplane when we'd brought her back to the cave: _If there was even a chance, isn't it worth considering?_

I was a hypocrite. I'd been criticizing Bruce for his unwillingness to contemplate the possibility of Kara actually being a Kryptonian, but I myself was unwilling to contemplate the possibility that she was nothing more than a very cleverly-engineered fake. And then there was the scenario he'd laid out for me. What if, by refusing to do this, I was ultimately denying everybody I cared about the chance to fight back if she really _was_ just a plant? Everything that would happen afterward…technically, I'd be the one to blame for every death, every injury, and everything else. It was a hell of a long shot—most everything those days was—but what if it was a hell of a long shot that wasn't too far from hitting home? I didn't want to go down in history as the jackass responsible for all of that.

I threw my hands up in the air in defeat. "Fine," I said. "Fine, fine, we'll play this your way. I'll do it. But if you're wrong and I get pounded into the pavement because of it—"

"I'll pay the hospital bills," Bruce assured me, smirking.

Damn, I really hated it when he did that to me.

A few days later, we were headed off to the Fortress of Solitude to meet Clark and Kara with her ship in tow, fresh out of Gotham Bay and practically still dripping. I held a stack of spiral notebooks and English textbooks in my lap, and Bruce had stashed a box full of…some sort of high-tech crap I had yet to learn the names of underneath his seat. I glared out the window at the ocean waves rolling endlessly by, wondering if there would still be time to back out of this deal later. I sighed. "I hope this all works out," I commented.

Bruce glanced at me. "You'll be fine," he said reassuringly.

"I didn't mean that, per se; I meant this whole thing about helping her with her English. I know about zero Kryptonian, and last time I checked I've got the world's worst Gotham accent, so I'm not really sure how this is supposed to work."

"Kryptonese," Bruce corrected. "Clark's already taught her a little bit of English, and he and I are both on hand to help out if you need it, but knowing you, you probably won't. You're a smart kid, Tim. You'll figure it out."

"How long do you figure we can go like this until one of them figures it out?"

If Bruce had been Dick (or anybody else, for that matter), he probably would've shrugged and made some witty remark, but all he said was, "As long as we possibly can. You have a knack for learning a lot about people in a short amount of time, though, so I wouldn't worry about it too much." But that came from the Batman, so of course _he'd_ be worrying about it every waking moment that he could afford to. That's some advice, huh?

I looked down into my lap at the textbooks. "Just wait until Dad hears my new best friend is from another planet…"

Bruce's gaze was boring into me almost immediately, both questioning and reprimanding at the same time. I put a hand up in a calming gesture. "Relax, I haven't said anything," I told him. "I swear that Dad knows nothing about you or the Titans or anything else. He thinks I'm away at vocational school."

"You're sixteen."

"They offer classes for sophomores, believe it or not."

Bruce didn't say anything for a few minutes, and I was almost grateful for it. It was kind of a bold move, bringing my dad into the conversation. That was the one part I hated about being Robin: my dad wasn't allowed to know at risk of his own safety. I couldn't tell him anything, because if he didn't sic the cops on Bruce or do something else equally stupid, he'd have to know more about our little world. He'd have to be told about my ties to the Teen Titans, about Bruce's ties to the Justice League, just because it was bound to happen. Even if he didn't ask, it'd eventually slip out in some conversation, for sure. His name would undoubtedly go into some Watchtower system somewhere, and that would ultimately put him in danger. If anything ever happened to my dad because of Robin, because of _me_…I'd never forgive myself, and Bruce would never forgive himself, either. I thought that, when Bruce opened his mouth to start talking again, he'd offer me some sage advice about dealing with the pressure, but all he said was, "We're coming up on the Fortress now."

I turned my attention out the front of the cockpit and saw the towering crystal structure among an expanse of snow, ice, and general lack of much else. It didn't gleam so much as glow, lit up from within, and as I watched, it was looming in front of us, a (relatively) small space opening up to land the Batplane in. I bit my lip to hold back my grin. "I think that's one of those things you never get tired of," I murmured, more to myself than to Bruce.

"Are you ready?" Bruce asked.

I nodded, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Well, I've been dying for a real introduction."

**KARA**

When Kal told me that the other man—Batman, he called him—was coming back, I was less than thrilled. When he said that Batman was bringing me a friend, I was indignant at first. I was perfectly capable, or so I reminded him, of picking out my own friends. I didn't want to meet this person. I wanted to be able to go out and make friends on my own, and I didn't understand the purpose behind forcing me to stay secluded from the world. If they wanted so badly for me to be social, why wasn't I out there, with everyone else?

Of course, all that changed when their aircraft landed in the Fortress of Solitude. Batman jumped out first, carrying a box under his arm. Then, my new "friend" followed him, and I couldn't stifle my gasp. It was the same boy from on top of that building in Gotham City, the same boy who had tried to pull me down from the air. He was still wearing that—what had Kal called it?—that mask. It was as if he distrusted me, and it made me uncomfortable enough that I fidgeted some.

I waited politely at the side while Kal shook hands with Batman and talked with him for a few moments. I could feel my palms sweating and rubbed them against the fabric of my dress, telling myself that I wasn't as nervous as what I really was. I looked around at the aircraft, at the ceiling, at the floor…at anything, really, if it could keep my eyes occupied on something other than the young man's gaze, which I could just _feel_ trained on me through those pure white lenses. Finally, Kal clapped the boy on the back and motioned for me to come closer. He and I stepped forward to meet each other, and he glanced up at Batman before saying, very slowly, "Hello, my name is Tim."

It was about as much English as I knew at the time, but it irritated me how he enunciated every syllable as if I were a small child. I crossed my arms and replied, "Kara."

He stuck out his hand, and I glanced down at it without moving. He stood there for a minute or so, hand outstretched, before sighing and withdrawing it. My eyes moved to the stack of thick books and thin writing pads he had tucked underneath his arm, and I felt my eyebrows rise questioningly. Kal turned to me and, thankfully, explained in Kryptonese, "Tim is here to help you with your new language. Consider him your private tutor. He'll be coming by every weekend that he can manage to teach you. Maybe you two can get to know each other a little bit, as well."

I rolled my eyes. "I suppose."

Kal gave me a sweet smile before directing us both to my quarters. The room was large, pure white with strips of gold painted around the edges, and was mostly clean, a modest little dwelling place in a vast hall of flamboyancy. The vanity sat against the wall, straight across from the bed, platters full of lit candles were placed on the bedside tables, and the vases only spilled over a little bit with plant life. The only thing out of order was the still-unmade bed in the center of the room. I had a dim, distant memory of my mother telling me once that an unmade bed was disgraceful, a discourtesy to any unexpected guests who might drop by during the day, and I almost blushed with embarrassment, but Tim didn't seem to care. He made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to come over. Hugging one arm close to my body, I strode over and sat beside him, chewing on the inside of my lip to keep my anxiety at bay. Why was I so nervous around him? What was it about him?

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and caught him looking at me. Well, I thought he was, anyway. The mask made it difficult to tell, and maybe that was the problem. I never was partial to trusting anything I couldn't see.

He placed a book in my lap, and when I looked up at him, he made a gesture like opening it and turning pages. Warily, I reached down and grabbed hold of the cover, but opening it somehow turned into ripping it off the rest of the book. Tim huffed out a breath and said something. I listened carefully and watched his mouth as he spoke: "Gahdam."

I copied the way he had moved his mouth and tongue, stretching and pulling my lips to create every sound. "Gahdam," I repeated.

His face took on an expression of shock. I smirked at him. His cheeks flushed, and he quickly opened up one of the writing pads. He held it out to me, and I examined it carefully. Twenty-six symbols scrawled in rather sloppy handwriting were proudly displayed on the blue-lined page, probably something important that he was going to try to teach me. He pointed to the first symbol, an acute angle with a line drawn between the two halves. "Ay," he said.

My face must've been blank, because he said it again. And then he said it a third time. The whole while, I watched his mouth, watched his tongue, and listened to the sound it was supposed to make. Then, carefully, I tried it myself. "Ay?"

Tim grinned at me and nodded. He moved on to the next symbol, and we repeated the process. We did it over and over again, going through every letter until I had them all mastered. One hour later, Kal came in to find me reciting the alphabet. He smiled at us, held one thumb up to Tim (whatever that was supposed to mean), and left again.

The next day, we started out with the alphabet again. "Ay, bee, see, dee, ee, ehf, jee, aych, I, jay, kay, ehl, ehm, ehn, oh, pee, keoo, ahr, ehs, tee, yoo, vee, dubblyoo, ehks, why, zee." From there, we moved on to simple words, like dog and cat and rain. But, after I learned those well enough, we started on longer, more difficult words, and as things got harder for me to say, I realized that we were going to Kal and Batman more often for help. I was beginning to think that Tim had some sort of odd regional accent, because Kal would often correct me on the way I pronounced words that I'd learned from him. Before I knew it, three weeks had gone by, and between Kal and Tim, I was declared to have passed spoken English. Then, of course, Tim showed up that weekend with a stack of blank notebooks and announced that it was time to learn to spell.

As we lay on the floor of my quarters, him showing me how to put the right amount of pressure on the pencil so as not to break it and me teasing him about his poor penmanship, he blurted, "You know, we never really got to know each other."

My eyes found their way to his face out of pure surprise. "Um…what do you mean?" I asked.

Tim shrugged. "We spent all that time trying to get you to learn more English than just whatever cuss words slipped out from me."

I sat up and leaned against my bed, wrapping my arms around my bent legs. "I learn full words much faster than I ever learn letters. You could've sat there all day and said 'ABC' to me, and I would've never understood you, but the second you said 'goddamn', I could repeat it."

"And I still say that's just frickin' weird. But, seriously, Kara, I didn't come here to be your tutor; that was a side thing. I came to be _friends_ with you."

"You mean you came because _Kal and Batman_ wanted us to be friends with each other."

Tim shrugged again. "Well, it was a logical choice. I mean, we are right around the same age, unless you count the years it took you to get here." He paused and lowered his tone. "Besides, don't tell anybody that I said this, but…I could use all the help I can get to make a few friends."

"I take it that you aren't the most popular person in your hometown."

"Not exactly," he admitted. "So, Kara, let's start with you. But not, like, any of your deepest, darkest secrets or anything, because, again, that's just weird. What are you comfortable telling me?"

I must admit that I was a little suspicious. He seemed really—I don't know—eager to hear my story, and I had just never met anyone who acted that way. He was Batman's partner, and perhaps that had something to do with it. I couldn't help but wonder, actually, if Batman was behind it. After all, the man didn't trust me, didn't believe anything I said of how I'd gotten there. So, I suppose I really did have a bit of a right to be suspicious of Tim's real reasoning behind wanting to be so close. But, regardless, I shrugged it off and started to talk, cautiously. "Well…I can't really remember too much about my life on Krypton. I can recall my mother walking me through the gardens when I was a little girl, and my father showing me around his laboratory when I was older. I remember one friend, Luna, who used to come over at the end of every week. It's just bits and pieces like that, but that's pretty much it aside from…the end." I swallowed hard, trying to force the sick feeling of sorrow back down into my stomach. "I can remember Krypton literally falling apart, everything coming undone, around us as Mother and Father worked to prepare everything. They told me that the navigational systems were set on a planet far away, a safe planet, and that they would soon follow me in their own ship, but…I don't know what really happened. I guess we weren't fast enough, we didn't ready ourselves quickly enough, or maybe they just lied and said they'd be coming so that I'd go. Whatever happened, it ended as soon as it began, and I don't remember anything after that but darkness." I reached up to wipe tears from my eyes. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "It's still just…it's a sensitive kind of thing, I suppose."

Even through the mask on his face, I could sense that Tim's eyes were locked onto me in something like sympathy. "You didn't have to tell me that," he said.

"I know; I just…telling somebody other than Kal about it, somebody who won't get quite as sad to hear the story, it feels good. You're really the only person I have like that."

Tim gave me a small smile and diverted his gaze back down to his notebook full of doodles. "I only became Robin because I figured out Batman and Nightwing's secret identities when I was, like, all of nine years old."

I found myself grinning a little. "Who's Nightwing?"

Tim waved the question off, dismissively. "You'll meet him later, hopefully. Anyway, I was going through a bit of a 'testing period', I guess you could call it. Batman was still trying to see if I was ready for the task, and…my parents, they—they were businesspeople. They were always jet-setting off to some foreign country for a business meeting or an impromptu vacation or whatever, so I never really spent too much time with them. When they went off to the Caribbean, just before my thirteenth birthday, I wouldn't have thought it was anything different, but I met Batman at headquarters that night and found out they were kidnapped. This guy, the Obeah Man, he took them and a few other people to use as sacrifices to the voodoo gods, I guess." He shrugged a little. "They…he poisoned them both. It paralyzed my dad, but my mom…she came home in a casket. Things have gone downhill ever since."

I felt horrible. Kal had told me that Earth could be a dangerous place—and I'd guessed that much on my own—but it had never really registered until that moment, hearing Tim's story. I pressed my lips together and stared down at my knees. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't know—you didn't have to say anything."

"Neither did you. And, besides, you were right. It does kind of feel good to tell it to somebody other than Batman."

"Somebody else who understands…"

The room was quiet for a full five minutes before Tim spoke up again. "Maybe we ought to work on being friends _without_ depressing each other."

I nodded. "That's a good idea."

**Author's Note: If you squint **_**real hard**_** (or not), you can find the foreshadowing in Tim's narration.**


End file.
